Daughter of the Wind
by Dinogrrl
Summary: She was once believed dead, lost during the Serdian War. Yet here she stands, trying to flee from fate, only to have it follow her, intent on destroying all in its path...
1. Prologue

Hello all.  
>Those of you who were here for the original, welcome back! If you want to read the old version, it's still here on the site.<br>Those of you who are reading this for the first time, I'm glad you made your way here.

So what should you expect?  
>The same characters, more or less, though their backgrounds and circumstances may have been altered.<br>The same overall plot. The exact story may remain unchanged in some places, and may be completely different in others. Hopefully it's improved all around.

* * *

><p>Half-asleep though he was, the young man could still hear someone pounding on the door to his parents' home next door. He tried to ignore it, but the pounding continued, an annoying thudding that seemed to bore into his head. Eventually, he sat up, blinking groggily.<p>

His parents had finally woken as well. The pounding stopped, soon replaced by talking. "Where is she?" the young man could barely make out.

Grunting softly, he quietly crawled to his window and lifted the wood-and-leather covering just enough to peek outside. At this time of year, the moon set soon after nightfall, leaving the land dark until sunrise. But the young man could just make out the scene before him, dimly lit as it was by starlight. His father was standing just inside the doorway to his home, obviously irritated at having been called from sleep. Facing him, his back to the eavesdropping young man, was a warrior dressed in full gear, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Who?" his father was asking, a slight growl to his voice that indicated irritation, or the remnants of sleep, or both.

"Don't play dumb with me," the warrior replied. "Where is she?"

His father narrowed his eyes and motioned with one hand to someone in the house behind him, as if telling them to stay back. "I thought she was with you."

"Is she not with that idiot son of yours?"

The young man furrowed his brow at this slight of his character.

His father was likewise angered, and stepped out of his home, pulling the door covering into place behind him. "You come here in the middle of the night and wake my family just to insult us?"

The young man ducked back into his own home, debating if he should join his father as the arguing men's tempers flared and voices rose to near-shouts. Then a thought struck him. _'He hasn't seen her lately. I haven't, either. So where_ is _she?'_

He did leave his home them, though by a smaller exit in the back rather than the front door. Glancing behind himself to ensure that he hadn't been noticed by the other men-he hadn't been-he quickly and quietly jogged the short distance to the paddock. He easily swung himself over the fence and scanned the herd. A few nearby gryffs shuffled away from him in sleepy surprise, while one instead raised his head and hooted softly, as if in greeting.

He frowned. _'She left Kitty.'_That could mean any number of things. The most likely of which, he thought, was that she didn't want anyone to know she had left. Seeing her mount missing from the herd was a sure giveaway that she was gone.

Even more to the point, he suddenly realized, was that she had left by herself during the darker phases of the moon. Gryffs could move in darkness, but they could not _become _the darkness, as she could.

She had left without notice, and with the intent to stay unnoticed.

_'She's gone.'_ The young man could only stare dumbly across the fields. _'She's really gone this time.'_And the warrior who had woken them was not happy about this.

Kitty had made his way over and bumped the curved edge of his beak against the young man's arm, begging for a treat. But the request was lost on the man, who could only think, _'This is not going to end well for anyone.'_Then he looked down at the gryff and rubbed the beast on his forehead, earning him a contented purr. He smirked.

_ 'But I have a pretty good idea of where she's heading.'_


	2. Just a Routine Mission

_ 'And this was so close to being an uneventful trip, too.'_ Coen frowned to himself as he trudged through the forest. Six months of nothing, or almost nothing. A nice enough calm, broken only by a few Sandoran rogues coming down from the mountains and wandering too close to the city, not realizing they would have to contend with an entire company of knights. Easy enough trouble to deal with. But now, the day before they were to return to Bale, real, dangerous trouble.

Thieves caused headaches from time to time in the western forests of Serdio, though they were usually kept at bay by the presence of the town guards. Usually. Until the past few days, which had seen the knights' own supplies raided. Entire day packs had disappeared at first, then the more precious supplies, such as medicines and equipment needed to repair minor damage to clothing and armor.

Bad enough there was a thief who was not fazed by even the king's knights. Worse was that last night, the thief had found their cache of magic vials, those combustible mixes of magic and chemistry used in battle. They were dangerous and unpredictable enough in the hands of someone trained to use them, but to a person desperate-or greedy-for money, the pretty sum such items could fetch may just outweigh the danger of transporting them. A decision that had, on more than one occasion, proven disastrous to the thief involved...and everyone in his vicinity.

Coen felt a muscle in his face twitch. He did not want to have to explain a city damaged by a burnout or black rain to the king. Or worse, to the First Knight.

He suddenly froze. Just ahead, he could hear something moving about, lightly crunching dead leaves underfoot. The soft clink of vials rolling into each other echoed through the trees. Coen winced, expecting his life to end right then in a burst of white-hot flames or soul-sucking darkness...

But the glasses did not break. No flames or darkness jumped up to claim his life. Once he had his racing heart under control, he cautiously crouched and shifted forward for a better look.

_'So this is the thief, huh?'_

A small, slender-bodied girl was pushing around the day packs, her wild rust-red hair falling into her face as she intently focused on the pack's contents. It was difficult for Coen to tell exactly how old the girl was, blocked as his view was by the trees and forest undergrowth, but she was certainly younger than himself. Young enough to lack the understanding that stealing magic from the king's knights was about to land her in deep trouble indeed.

Coen narrowed his eyes, his right hand gripping his sword's hilt tightly. The girl did not seem to notice him as she pulled items from the pack, setting them to one side or the other, or completely discarding them in some odd pattern the knight couldn't discern. Judging by the piles of things strewn about her, she had done this to every pack she had pilfered.

The girl's head suddenly shot up, and her movements ceased. Coen likewise paused, hand still on his sword. He hoped he would not have to fight this girl; she lacked weapons, from what he could see, but he knew better than to underestimate anyone who could steal from the knighthood without leaving a single trace of herself behind, not even a glimpse of herself to a witness.

She turned her head ever-so-slightly, listening to the forest.

The knight shifted his weight slowly, trying to ease muscles that burned as he held his position.

Something beneath his boot cracked.

Immediately the girl turned her attention to him, ghostly gray eyes piercing through the dim light of the forest, staring at him in shock.

_'Damn it.'_

The girl was off like an arrow, her stolen prizes forgotten. Her small size allowed her to dodge trees and leap over underbrush as easily as if she was taking a leisurely stroll down garden path.

"Stop!" Coen shouted after her, knowing full well she would do anything but. He pushed himself up and into a run. He was not as agile as the girl, but his longer stride made up for the distance she had gained.

She raced down a small hill, then the sound of her footsteps stopped. Coen caught up with her in time to see her in mid-leap over a deeply-carved stream bed. He jumped after her.

Her smaller size proved to be her downfall as she fell short of the opposite bank, her legs not long enough to reach across the gap. She instead hit the muddy embankment halfway down, then slid the rest of the way to the stream bed, which was reduced to a mere muddy flat by the lack of recent rains.

Coen, on the other hand, did reach the other bank, and quickly dropped down to the stream bed in a more dignified manner, landing next to the girl. With a smooth motion, he drew his sword and drove its point into the ground, mere hair-breadths away from her head. She gasped and gave him a frightened look, gray eyes wide. He merely glared down at her. "Should have thought about this before you stole from the king's knights," he said in a low voice.

The next thing he knew was a sharp pain in the back of his head, and the sensation of flipping over a few times. Then he realized he was on his back in the mud, something was pressing down on his chest, and his sword was definitely not in his hands. He forced himself to open his eyes and found himself staring into the face of an enraged woman, whose clenched fist was about to make contact with his head.

He jerked his leg up, his knee connecting with the woman's side. She gave a grunt of pain, flinching, the small movement just enough to save Coen the pain of being punched in the face as the woman's fist went too high. It was also enough to shift the woman's weight off him, allowing him to roll aside and jump up to defend himself. He instantly regretted the suddenly movement as his head spun, but as his attacker was still recovering herself, he had a spare momement in which to regain his bearings.

The woman was not very tall, he realized, but strong-looking, and her clothes were nondescript but functional. A wilderness traveler, perhaps. Or a thief who was on the run. After another moment, the woman stood, arms held in a protective stance; the two of them tensed as they sized one another up.

_'Her eyes look familiar...'_ That was all Coen had time to think before she came at him again, moving swiftly and very much with the intention of hurting him. He side-stepped; she was prepared for this and twisted to meet him. She ducked just in time to avoid connecting with one of his own well-aimed punches. Again, the woman stepped back to assess the situation.

Something glinted in the corner of Coen's vision, and he glanced at it. His sword lay not too far off in the stream bed. He glanced back at the woman, who was still raring to fight.

She lunged for him.

He dropped down, diving for his sword. He managed to get his hand around the grip and twisted himself back around to face his attacker. He raised his sword arm to defend himself, only to have the flat of the weapon pressed against his chest as he was once again pinned on his back. The woman leaned her full weight against him as she wrapped both her hands around his wrist, forcing the blade up, dangerously close to Coen's throat.

_'I'm going to die...I'm going to die...'_ He tried to push back, but the woman was surprisingly strong.

The woman seemed to be waiting. Waiting for Coen to realize exactly how angry she was before she delivered a final blow. Her green eyes seemed to bore into him, a cold rage unlike anything else...unlike anything...except...

He had seen that exact expression before, that cold rage that made a certain knight of Basil more frightening to him than a thousand Sandoran troops. But this woman was not that knight.

Glimpses of memories suddenly flashed through Coen's mind. No, she was not the First Knight. But perhaps...just maybe...

_A little girl sitting on the edge of the Slambert fountain._

"...Niira." He could barely manage a whisper.

Silence. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Coen felt despair rise in him. _'It's not her...I'm going to die now...'_

Slowly, she released her grip on his arm and backed away. Coen coughed and shuddered, not realizing he had been holding his breath for so long. He rolled onto his side and wheezed a few times, more from the shock of still being alive than anything else.

Then the woman spoke. "Who are you?" The voice was low, almost snarling, with a heavy accent he couldn't identify.

The knight was finally able to get himself into a kneeling position, hand braced against one knee. _'Is it really her? But she's...no.'_ He set down his sword and gingerly felt his throat. _'No blood. Thank the gods, that was too close.'_

"Who are you?" the woman demanded again. "How do you know me?"

_ 'It_ is _her. But that's impossible...it's impossible!'_ "You're..." He couldn't find a way to form something understandable out of his tangled thoughts.

She was unimpressed, glaring down at him with those cold green eyes, fists still clenched.

_'But she's right here in front of me. Her father would...what would he do?'_ "Your father...he..."

She snarled suddenly, a sound that was more animal than human. "What do you know of my father?"

"Sir Lavitz...First Knight of Serdio," he ventured cautiously, still not wanting to believe she was really here.

"Basil."

It took a moment for Coen to figure out the tone in her voice. She was _correcting_ him. "Serdio," he insisted.

She clearly didn't believe him.

"You've been gone a long time." _'So long that I had...almost forgotten, almost hidden those memories away for good.'_ Something was tugging painfully at his heart. He looked down at the ground, hoping to hide any sign of his thoughts that might be showing on his now-muddied face.

Niira was silent for a very long time. Somewhere nearby, the small pale-eyed girl could be heard making her way back up the steep bank; her escape was ignored by the other two. Finally, Niira spoke again. "Who are you?" Her voice was no longer threatening, though it was still heavy with suspicion.

_'Would she remember me?'_ "I'm...Sir Coen Verachmenn, of the Third Knighthood."

Her green eyes never strayed from him. Then suddenly, she sprang forward. Coen braced himself.

He was bowled over again, though this time it was not done by fists clenched in anger, but the arms of the woman that suddenly wrapped around his shoulders. "Coen!" The exclamation was muffled, as she spoke it into the ground. "I can't believe...you, of all people!"

_'_You_ can't believe it?'_ "Niira...where have...this whole time!" He could barely get a word out with how tightly she embraced him.

"You got bigger," she said as she released him, sounding almost disappointed. She tucked herself into a crouch, settling back on her heels. "Older?" She was having to hunt for the correct word; it struck the knight as odd to hear that from her. She had a slight scowl on her face, though whether it was due to her inability to speak the language fluently or at Coen's apparently surprising age, he couldn't tell.

Coen made no move to rise; surely he'd just end up back on the ground again. "Fifteen years," he said. He had kept track of the time, every year promising himself he wouldn't continue counting.

Niira looked a bit distressed, as if she hadn't realized exactly how much time had passed. "What are you doing here?" she asked instead of whatever else was on her mind.

"I should ask you that." _'More like, why are you sitting here, alive? You_ died_.'_

"I asked first."

He watched her for a moment; she waited patiently, the coldness gone from her eyes, replaced by a distant curiosity. "Someone," he said finally, glancing in the direction of the smaller girl, "was stealing items from the knighthood. I came out to find who and arrest them."

Niira glared in the same direction. "Magic attracts her. I told her to leave alone, but she doesn't listen to me."

"Maybe she'll listen now, eh?" Coen stood, retrieving his sword, wiping it on his pants leg to remove the mud. He was only partially successful at this, given how muddy he himself was now.

"You are still going to arrest her?"

"It's my duty," he answered simply. "Though if you help me return the vials, I may reconsider." _'There's more important things to worry about now.'_

Niira called into the forest, speaking a language Coen couldn't name.

A few moments later, several magic vials were flung over the edge of the bank, landing with soft 'plops' in the mud at their feet. Coen hissed and jumped back. "Holy gods!"

"She is mad at you," Niira said, as if he should have expected this. She again called up to the girl. No more vials were tossed at them.

Coen was gingerly picking the glasses out of the mud. "_Idiot!_ She could have killed us!" He carefully, oh so carefully, tucked them into the crook of one arm as he started up the bank. "How many more does she have?"

"I don't know. She won't tell me."

_'Great. Unaccounted-for magic vials just sitting around the __forest.'_ He pulled himself over the edge, and turned to offer his hand to Niira, only to find her standing next to him. He stared at her in surprise for a brief moment, then gave a small shrug, lowering his hand as they headed up the hill. "She'd better find them. Or I _will_ arrest her."

The girl was only a short distance in front of them. When she heard Coen's voice, she turned her gray gaze from him to Niira, waiting for an explanation. Niira provided it in that foreign language, which made the girl scowl fiercely before running off once more. "She'll find them," Niira tried to assure Coen. When he didn't answer, she continued speaking. "Where are we going?"

"You still haven't told me what you're doing here."_ 'And by the gods, why are you_ alive_?'_ Coen looked at Niira; she had turned her gaze down.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I...wanted to go to Bale. But I couldn't."

"The knighthood's leaving for Bale tomorrow. You can come with us." It was not so much a suggestion as a subtle command. He wasn't about to let her disappear again.

Whatever answers he may have wanted to get from her, she wasn't ready to give them. Instead, she deflected the topic slightly with, "So...you are a knight."

"Yes."

Niira smiled lightly, though other things were obviously clouding her mind. "You always said you would."

He didn't respond. He wasn't sure what he could have responded with. He wasn't sure he could even think of a response; his mind was simultaneously crowded with thoughts and as blank and empty as a snowfield at night._ 'I am walking with Niira in the forest. I am __talking to her. This isn't possible. This isn't_ real_.'_

"Blue is Third Knighthood, yes?"

_ 'She has a good memory,'_ he thought, surprised. He glanced down at the light leather armor he wore, which would have shown painted blue designs had it not been covered with mud. "Yes."

"You serve under your father?"

_'She has too good of a memory.'_ Coen's jaw tensed, suppressing a sudden wave of anger and guilt. "Once. Not any more."

"Oh. Who leads the knighthood now?"

"Ah...I do."


	3. Homeward

As they neared the town, all Coen could think was how badly he needed a drink. _'Seems as good of a time as any to learn that vice,'_ he thought, smirking briefly. He glanced again at the woman who walked to his left. Her gaze was still distant, turned more to the ground just in front of her than their destination. Almost as if she, too, was currently lost in the same bizarre dream-world Coen was.

Neither he nor Niira had spoken since they had started back to the town. The eerie silence almost made it possible for him to forget he was walking next to someone who may as well have been a ghost. Then he would catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, and it would all come back in a rush-hurt, confusion, joy, so many questions he wanted answered but that she did not seem ready to discuss... So they had walked in silence.

The pale-eyed girl - Coen hadn't even gotten her name yet - followed them, likewise silent, as if she sensed the memories between them, and wasn't willing to wade into that tangled mess. Coen was surprised she had willingly followed, after her flight earlier. The girl was obviously strongly attached to Niira, but what exactly that connection was, Coen couldn't fathom. It was yet another question for Niira, though admittedly not one he needed answered as badly as _how are you still alive?_

The sun was beginning to set, casting an orangish light on the buildings they approached, barracks originally made to serve the knights during the Civil War. Today, they housed the knights and soldiers who acted as a rather visible reminder that the war may be over, but the King of Serdio would not tolerate those who still wished to cause him grief. Coen, being the head of the knighthood, did not sleep in those barracks, but rather in a small house nearby, once belonging to a family of the town but long since repurposed into officers' quarters.

"What happened to your father?"

The sudden question made Coen start, lost as he was in his own thoughts. "What?"

"What happened to your father?" Niira repeated, distantly. "That he no longer leads knights?"

"He was wounded," Coen replied quickly. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't... "He was unable to return to duty. I took his place." ...wasn't exactly the truth, either. He absentmindedly ran his left hand over the pommel of his sword, fingers trembling slightly.

Niira fell silent again, and Coen could hear distant voices coming from the town as people prepared to settle in for the night. "My father?" Niira asked quietly.

_'There's one hell of a story.'_ "Still First Knight, like I said."

The young woman muttered something in the language Coen didn't recognize. When the pale-eyed girl touched her arm questioningly, Niira shook her head. "Coen...don't tell anyone." She looked at him, fear on her face.

"I didn't plan to," he replied. He disliked being the source of turmoil, and announcing that the long-dead daughter of Sir Lavitz was actually alive and in Serdio would cause an uproar that would be heard all the way back to Bale.

* * *

><p>Niira only gave the smallest of polite refusals when Coen offered the women the use of his room in the officers' house for the night. It had only been a token of social etiquette though, and after her weak initial protest, Niira had gladly disappeared into the relative solitude of the room. Her friend, silent as ever, gave Coen a threatening look as he left the house, magic vials in his arms. He briefly returned the look, decided it would be best to ignore her, then departed. She had the gall to shut the front door on his heels.<p>

It was a short walk from the house to the barracks compound, and a short walk from there to one of the storage rooms, but with every step, Coen winced at the clinking vials in his arms. He continually prayed they would stay in one piece, and tried to console himself with the notion that if one broke now, it would kill him before he could do anything anyway.

Which was a complete lie, of course. Battle magic like this left its victims alive, and aware, long enough that they knew exactly what had maimed them so, or so he heard. It took someone skilled at manipulating magic to make these magics kill swiftly, and Coen most certainly was not skilled with magic.

With new thoughts going through his mind of the many horrible ways in which he'd suffer should the vials break, the knight almost didn't hear his name being called. When he realized someone was asking for him, he looked to the noise; further ahead of him were a few of his knights, dressed casually in their Third blue. They were anything but casual in behavior as they hurried to him, reaching to take the precious items he carried.

Coen was not simply unskilled with magic, he was completely inept to the point of being a danger to himself, and anyone in his vicinity. The knights, seeing their commander with an entire armful of battle magic, were valiantly trying to repress their collective heart attacks so to safely relieve him of the vials before anything unpleasant occurred.

"Where did all these come from?" one of the men asked. Coen plainly heard that as, _"What the hell do you of all people think you're doing with that much magic?"_

"I located most of the stolen vials," Coen said by way of explanation.

The knight who had spoken eyed his commander's muddied outfit with obvious incredulity. "Where were they, buried in a bog?"

Coen frowned slightly. "You don't look so beautiful yourself." When the last of the magic vials had been taken from him, he motioned the knights away. "Pack those things before someone gets hurt." Satisfied that they were leaving to do so, Coen turned back the way he came. With Niira and the pale-eyed girl in his room, he would have to bunk a night in the barracks. Not exactly what he had been planning earlier, before today had happened, but anything was better than the bare ground, which he was, as a knight, unfortunately more familiar with than any person should be.

The barracks in this town had been built to house a knighthood at its full strength. The Civil War had seen the demise of many good knights, and with the war over, there was less pressure to keep the knighthoods' numbers so high. Rebuilding was a slow process, but it did mean there were unused rooms in the barracks tonight. Coen chose one of these for himself, unbelting his sword and removing his leather armor, setting them both against the wall. With a bit of aggravation, he suddenly realized that he had not thought to grab clean clothes from his officer's room. With Niira currently occupying the room, and her friend's evident distrust of him, Coen was not especially keen to venture back there tonight. Best to just clean up as best as he could now, and deal with finding presentable clothing after a good night's rest.

But a good night's rest was a distant goal that he could only wish to reach. _'This isn't real. I am sleeping in the barracks instead of my bed because Niira is there and she is alive and this isn't real._

_'She's_ dead_.'_ No matter how strongly he tried to douse them, those flames still danced in his memories, the flames that had claimed his friend so long ago. Bale may be a city laced with canals, but that didn't mean its wooden buildings couldn't burn...

He convinced himself that his edginess was due to it being too early in the evening yet for sleep, and he left his room to pace the halls instead. Perhaps he should get something to eat, then. But his stomach was spinning just as much as his mind, and the resulting sensation was not one that would have been conducive to eating. Distractedly, Coen wandered from the barracks to the nearby stables, passing down the long rows of stalls, housing half-asleep horses that barely reacted to his presence. He stopped at one stall, and called softly to his horse within, a solidly-built tan. The beast flicked his ears before reaching his neck over the door, and Coen scratched his muzzle. "They been taking good care of you?" he asked in a low voice. "Sorry I haven't been here the past couple of days. Had some business to deal with." The horse only looked at him with large, dark eyes.

Some days, he preferred the silent company of his trusted mount to that of other people. Men of the other knighthoods said that those of the Third were more dedicated to their horses than their king. It wasn't far from the truth, Coen had to admit. Especially if it was a horse like the gray charger a few stalls away.

Coen strode down to the gray, furrowing his brow. "And what are you doing here?" It was a powerfully-built animal of northern Basilisch stock, the kind of horse that cost a pretty coin to obtain and train. Anyone who owned such a horse would have prized it almost as much as his own life.

"Coen!" The voice echoed down the row of stalls. "Ah, they said I'd find you here."

The young knight didn't need to look at the speaker to know who it was, but he did anyway. "You weren't due back until later tonight."

He was approached by a silver-haired man, a knight in his blue uniform, the rider of the fine gray charger. "You don't have any idea what time it is, do you?"

Coen grimaced. "Obviously later than I thought. So, what do you need, Radulf?"

Radulf leaned back against the stall door, giving his horse's nose a rub. "You mind telling me who the hell is in your room and why I was assaulted by a girl?"

Coen winced, turning away from his lieutenant. "I thought I'd be able to tell you before you went there."

"Well?"

"I wanted to have some fun tonight?"

Radulf snorted. 'Fun' was _his_ usual excuse for sharing his room with strange women. Coen, on the other hand, never shared his room with anyone.

"I...came across them wandering in the forest. I offered them a safe place to stay tonight."

"You're a terrible liar. I don't know why you try still."

Coen sighed softly. "Be that as it may, I..."

The older knight quirked an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

"They're the thieves."

"What in the five hells possessed you to let thieves into our quarters?"

"I can't tell you."

Radulf had crossed his arms over his chest, not a friendly gesture. "You know damn well you're on thin ice with Lavitz, if he finds out-"

Coen sent him a sharp glare. "Radulf, I can't tell you. I promised her."

The lieutenant simply stared back. "You promised a _thief_."

"She's not a thief, just..." He fumbled over what to say. "It'll make sense once we get to Bale. Just trust me."

The older knight's severe gaze didn't waver from Coen. "I do trust you. I've known you long enough, I trust you have your reasons, but until I see them, I'm not going to pretend I'm fine with this."

Coen only nodded slightly. It was as good of an agreement to stay quiet as any he'd likely get.

"First thing I am not fine with, you let a girl chase us out of our quarters."

"Sorry."

* * *

><p>"<em>I can't do this.<em>"

Alakyl watched her tiredly from her cocoon of blankets. _She_, for one, was quite comfortable and would enjoy a night in an actual bed, even if the bed did belong to that meddling human. And even if she would have to chase other meddling humans out of the building.

"_We...we should leave._"

The girl sat up at that and angrily gestured with her hands that she did not agree with this 'we' statement. Niira seemed a bit taken aback.

"Well you'll just get in trouble again by yourself," she said, continuing in her Northland language.

Alakyl scowled fiercely. "And you'll wander aimlessly until _he_ finds you again," she signed.

Niira opened her mouth, as if she was going to reply, but instead turned back to the window, looking at the darkness outside. "Better than facing _him_."

The girl sighed, flopping once again onto the blankets. Niira was so impossible sometimes. Why did she always have to be the voice of reason?

"Wandering's not so bad," Niira was saying, mostly to herself. "Mom did it."

Alakyl waved her arms to get her friend's attention. "She wasn't trying to hide. And she wasn't afraid to go to the city and meet your dad."

"She met him _before_ going to Bale," Niira corrected.

"Whatever! I didn't come all this way for you to not go through with this." She rolled onto her stomach.

The other woman scowled down at her. "You invited yourself along. It's not my fault this isn't fun enough for you."

Ignoring that, Alakyl instead indicated the room. "So who is this guy, anyway?"

"Just a friend. From when I was little."

The pale-eyed girl snorted and rolled over with a soft 'hmph,' re-cocooning herself in the blankets. _''Just a friend', my ass.'_

* * *

><p>For two weeks they marched east across the plains of northern Serdio, the feet of men and horses trampling the grasses into the dusty ground. Though Coen had offered them the use of some horses, Niira declined; it had been far too long since she had ridden a horse, and Alakyl disliked moving by any other means than her own two feet. Coen had seemed slightly offended at first that they didn't accept his offer, and Niira in turn had been slightly offended that Coen didn't think her capable of simply walking.<p>

He was now riding his horse at the head of the company, and Niira walked towards the back. They kept that distance even when camping at night.

Niira both hated it and needed it. She still could not get her thoughts in order, and the distance gave her a chance to think. But there was only so much thinking she could do without outside explanations, and the only person who could give her those explanations was far ahead, on the back of a horse, pointedly avoiding her.

In all of her wildest imaginings, she had not expected to find Coen in the middle of some nameless forest along the western border of Serdio. _'I thought you were dead.'_ Yet, here he was, very much alive, and somehow leading an entire knighthood.

She knew there was some larger story behind him being Third Knight. He wasn't a very convincing liar. What hadn't he told her, and why? What else was he hiding? Did he have a wife now? Children?

Had her father ever remarried?

Niira shook that line of thought from her mind.

It was only fair the Coen wasn't speaking. She hadn't been very forthcoming herself. But how to even begin...?

Alakyl was keeping very close to her during the trek. Though she had visited Niira's grassland home many times in the Northlands, land without frequent sources of water still unnerved her. She was used to the ocean, to being surrounded by its salty water and tidepools and rivers that emptied into the sea. Niira had always known grasslands. Not the grasslands that they were currently traversing, specifically. They were still far from Bale, and as a child, she had not been allowed to travel more than about ten miles from the city, never beyond the city walls once Sandora had declared full war on Basil. As the First Knight's daughter, she would have made too tempting a target to Sandorans once outside of the city's protection.

She had too much of her mother's people in her, though. Her wanderlust had made her envious of the soldiers and merchants who came to Bale from afar, and she never tired of the knights' stories of their campaign travels. Her young mind would feel as if bursting with the excitement of adventure, so she and Coen had done the next best thing that any children could do: they made their own adventures within the city walls, battling imaginary beasts and foes together, overcoming epic trials fit for the storybooks.

She had often wondered how close their imaginings had come to her later reality.

"Feel like talking yet?"

She blinked at the unexpectedly close voice.

"Didn't mean to startle you."

It took her a moment to register the language as Serdian, and she looked to her left in time to see Coen swinging down from his horse's saddle. "I was...thinking." It felt odd to speak the language after so long. The sounds were almost strange to her now, especially when she had to pause to dredge up words from her memory.

Coen was loosely holding the horse's reins as he fell into place next to Niira. But not too close to her, as Alakyl gave him a glare from her position to Niira's right. "Hmm? What about?"

"This. Bale. Everything."

His silence told her that he was having similar thoughts. "Anything I can help you with?"

She hesitated, trying to come up with something, _anything_, now that Coen actually felt like speaking with her. "You aren't going to arresting Alakyl, are you?" She knew she had gotten that wrong. Why was it now so hard to speak a language she had spoken as a child?

"No. Though if others find out, I may have to."

Niira only nodded. She had warned Alakyl, now here they were, marching directly into Bale in a rather showy fashion, and they may or may not end up in jail once they got there. If they had met any other knight in the forest, or if Coen hadn't been the commander of the knighthood, things might have gone so differently for them. "How did you end up leading knights anyway?" The question came so freely, she didn't realize she had said it out loud at first. When she glanced at Coen and saw how tense his jaw was, how tightly he was gripping his sword, she realized that indeed, she had said that out loud.

"I told you. My father was wounded. I took his place."

_'He's a terrible, terrible liar.'_ "But you are too youn-"

"It was King Albert's decision." He said it so shortly, Niira knew that to further pursue the subject would only end badly. Not knowing what else to say, she simply walked in silence, which seemed to suit Coen just fine.

She was surprised by how much it hurt that he was not being truthful with her. _'He's changed. I've changed. Everyone changes._

_'Gods above, I hope it hasn't been too much change.'_

* * *

><p>The moment they were within the gates of Bale, in that city crossed with rivers and canals, Alakyl slipped away. It was too easy for her to disappear once she caught the wild energy of water, especially after so long traversing a land nearly devoid of water. Niira knew there was no point in trying to find her. The girl wasn't trying to avoid punishment, she just needed the water. Alakyl would return once she had her fill of that elemental magic.<p>

Explaining this to Coen without divulging the Northlanders' secrets was like dancing: a delicate thing that Niira wasn't delicate with. Coen was less than thrilled at the idea of allowing the thief to freely roam the city, but when Niira pleaded for him to trust her, he hesitated, as if remembering something. He had then agreed to leave the girl alone for now, sending knights to hunt her down would be more effort and commotion than either of them wanted. But he would only do that if Niira came with him to Indelsschloss. He had to report back to the First Knight, and that was who Niira needed to see as well, wasn't it?

She had nothing with which to counter that logic.

She stayed in the middle of the company of knights as they wound their way through the curving streets of Bale towards Indels. Unlike the grassland, she knew this area very well indeed, but that didn't make this journey any less terrifying for her. With the knights surrounding her, the townspeople had a smaller chance of noticing her, of recognizing her. Would they have recognized her? Coen had, but they had been close once. There were few others in this city who could claim that same previous closeness to her, if they were even still alive.

The training grounds around the back of the castle, those were as familiar to her as her own hands. She was surprised just how irritated she was when Coen stopped her from going there. "There will be too many questions," he said. "Wait in the courtyard." Yes, that was irritating, but she understood. It was not uncommon for people to be invited to stroll through the courtyard, down its stone paths, under the trees and around the carefully-tended flowers. It _was_ uncommon for strange people to be wandering in the training grounds. Most people were not stupid enough to walk right into the midst of highly-trained soldiers; those that did were either exceptionally stupid, or trying to cause trouble, or more commonly both. They were dealt with swiftly, no matter the case.

As Coen left to tend to his duties, Niira wandered to one of the courtyard trees and sat on the stone bench in its shade. It was pleasantly cool in this spot, and had she been less tense she might have enjoyed it. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. At least she had thought to trade her and Alakyl's clothing for something less obviously Northlandish while in the port town.

She still had no idea what she planned to accomplish here. Her main goal had been to get away from Shining Claw, and to that end, it had been some random thought, some old dredged-up memory that had propelled her toward her old home. She hadn't expected such a whim to end this way.

She had long known that Shining Claw had lied to her about many things, but she never suspected all this.

"Excuse me, but what is-"

The voice was so close and so unexpected that she jumped up with her fist swinging.

* * *

><p>He had been hoping only to speak with Sir Lavitz, to quickly report that nothing of exceptional note had happened in the west, the town was now better equipped to deal with bandits and Sandorans, and by the way there's someone you need to see. Instead, he had found the First Knight speaking with the king, and had ended up reporting to both of them. Coen was awkward enough speaking in his official position as it was. Having both of his superiors present was an unwelcome pressure.<p>

But he held up admirably enough, he thought. The king and Lavitz accepted his report without much question, and the king was now studying one of the large wall-mounted maps of Serdio, mentally tracing the few points and paths Coen had mentioned. Coen himself was busy thinking of how to break the First Knight away from the conversation he had been engaged in with the king before Coen had found them, and how to do so without having to announce to King Albert as well that Niira was here, in the courtyard, alive.

"Something on your mind?" Sir Lavitz spoke softly enough that he did not distract the king from his map-gazing.

Coen tried to look away from the man's piercing gaze. "No...no sir."

"You're rather distracted." Few people knew of exactly how perceptive the First Knight could be. Coen was quite aware of this, having been at the receiving end of that quiet ability more times than he cared to remember, such as now.

"It's nothing. I'm just tired."

Lavitz raised an eyebrow, the only indication he gave that he knew someone was lying and he would not tolerate it. But the knight didn't pursue the matter, instead turning his attention back to his king, who was still looking at the map, one finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. King Albert was almost the exact opposite of his First Knight: where few people knew of how sharp the knight's mind was, few people were likely to forget the king's intelligence. What they instead forgot was that the king was every bit as dangerous in a fight as Lavitz...

The door to the room opened, and Coen heard someone step inside. He instantly recognized the footsteps as a man in heavy boots - probably one of the castle guards. The king turned his head to look, as if confused by the sudden intrusion, and the two knights followed his gaze. "Yes?"

The guard swallowed, as if nervous, or amused, and trying to hide it. "There's...there's a situation in the courtyard we thought might require your attention, sir." Coen couldn't tell who was being addressed, the king or Lavitz.

"Oh?" was all the king said.

"There's a girl..." The guard's mouth twitched into a barely-perceptible smile. "She's gotten herself in a tussle with the First Knighthood and I think you'd be embarrassed at who's winning."

Coen's blood ran cold. _'Niira, you idiot.'_

"They'll have her contained soon enough, but..." Coen didn't hear the rest of the guard's words for how fervently he was mentally praying that Niira behave.

Lavitz was at one of the windows, looking down into the courtyard; he frowned, much less amused than the guard. Whether he was mad at the girl who was taking it upon herself to beat up the knights, or at his knights for not being able to handle her more efficiently, Coen couldn't tell. "If your majesty would excuse me," the First Knight said, in the clipped tones he used when remembering to restrain his anger just long enough that he wouldn't say certain words in front of his king.

"Of course."

It took all of Coen's own self-control to not flinch as Lavitz stalked past him. _'Niira...Niira...gods above, why would you do this to me?'_

King Albert was now calmly watching the scene below. Coen simply stood there, not sure if he could leave, or if there was even a polite way to do so at this point. "You brought her here?" the king asked after a while.

"Yes, your majesty." He response was so automatic, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself even if he had wanted. Lavitz may not have tried to work through Coen's lies today, but the king would not be so kind in that regard. Better to initially speak the truth than have him pick apart your mind until he had pulled the truth from you with his own hands.

"Why did you say nothing?"

"I promised her."

"Who is she?"

"...I promised her I wouldn't say."

The king was looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "She is besting my knights and you say nothing about her."

"I'm sorry, your majesty." _'Please stop asking me.'_ He knew what happened when someone lied to the king. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how far he had to be pushed before promises to old friends broke in deference to fealty to his lord.

His saving grace, not for the first time, was the king's kindness. King Albert turned his attention back to the window and was silent for a while. "She must be important if you would say nothing even to me."

Coen nodded once. "She is."

"Hmm. Lavitz is not going to take kindly to any of this."

Realizing the king was referring to something in the courtyard, Coen joined him at the window and looked down.

* * *

><p>She really hadn't mean to punch the man so hard. She certainly wouldn't have if she had realizing he was a knight, and not just any knight, but one wearing the green of the First Knighthood. One of her father's men.<p>

Niira had only a brief moment of clarity as the young knight staggered back, more from surprise than the punch to his face. The gravity of what she had just done hit her then; attacking the king's knights was an offense whose consequences ranged from being jailed to pushing two countries into war.

Then two of the knight's comrades, also wearing green, rushed over.

Heart still pounding, she reacted exactly as she had earlier, and the closest knight was soon on the ground, curled up in pain. When she saw the second knight come at her, short sword drawn and demanding her to surrender, her racing heart was joined by an almost blinding bout of panic, a darkness that veiled her mind.

_'It's too bright out. Nowhere to hide. Weapons coming at her. Need to run. Fight. Save yourself!'_

When she got her thoughts under some sort of control, she found herself in the middle of the courtyard, a good dozen of the knights surrounding her, some of them on the ground, most of them with weapons. The others had lost their weapons, and several short swords and spears were scattered on the ground; Niira herself had a spear gripped tightly in her hands. Not her own, but one of Serdian design that she must have taken during her violent panic. Now that she was mostly thinking straight again, she held the weapon in a defensive stance as she looked fruitlessly for a way to escape.

The knights weren't foolish, but they also weren't easily intimidated. They had marked her as a dangerous individual, rightly so, and were positioning themselves to disarm her. She knew she stood little chance against so many of them at once, especially now that her panic was under control, but she found herself stubbornly unwilling to give in.

She prepared to launch herself forward, legs bunching beneath her, arms drawing back slightly to brace the spear. Instead of leaping, she was knocked onto her face by a jolting pain in her knees. _'Damn it, behind me!'_ Snarling more at her own lack of foresight than having been struck down, she quickly flipped onto her back, whipping the spear up and around.

Her aim was perfect. The tip of the blade was touching the man's overshirt right at his stomach, not pressing hard enough to injure him, but enough that it would if he were to shift his weight forward even slightly.

She was shocked to feel the sharp, cold steel of the man's own spear against the side of her neck.

_'Stupid, stupid...you let yourself be attacked from behind and if this were a real battle you'd be headless now.'_ Then she thought to actually look at the man.

Recognition turned her insides cold, and the hair on her body prickled. She dropped her weapon as if it were red-hot, pushing herself away until she was free from the blade against her throat. The man was watching her silently, anger smoldering in his gray-green eyes. He was infuriatingly calm considering that he could have lost his own life, but Niira knew that within, he was anything _but_ calm.

_'He hasn't changed.'_ The same person from her memories now stood before her in the flesh. His face was more world-weary now, his sandy-blonde hair had begun to gray, but it was undoubtedly _him_.

"What do you think you're doing?" His quiet confidence never faltered, and he spoke in a low voice almost devoid of emotion. She was all too familiar with that tone of voice, the one that meant someone was about to pay dearly for their actions.

_'What have I done? Does he remember me? Does he even want a daughter now?'_ She was still cringing on the ground before him, the knights around them unsure of her sudden change in mood.

The man was waiting for an answer, still pointing his spear at her.

"I..." she started softly. She felt her voice catch in her throat. "Father?"

A murmur ran through the knights at that, but the attention of their leader was on Niira alone. His expression was still one of calm anger, but there was something else in his eyes now, an old, distant pain.

She knew it was him. She saw him, she felt him, she recognized him. But he didn't seem to recognize her now. Perhaps she had changed too much after all.

That thought was suddenly too much for her, and she made a strangled, sobbing sound. "_Father..._" she said in her Northland tongue. Ashamed of her tears, she turned away; unable to hide in this exposed area, surrounded by the knights, she could only bury her face in her hands. "_He said you were dead!_" The words were rushing out of her now, barely understandable even to herself. "_I knew he was lying, I just didn't know how much! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I tried to come back, I really did, but I couldn't...he wouldn't...I didn't want to leave, he made me..._" Her outburst dissolved into sobs.

She didn't hear the spear drop to the ground, or the knight step to her. "Niira?" She barely registered him dropping to his knees. He reached out, cupping her face in his strong hands. "Niira?"

Niira no longer cared about the knights around her. She let himself go limp in her father's embrace, her sight blurred by tears. For a few moments, she rested her head on his chest as he held her close, whispering something she couldn't quite catch. The decorative overshirt of his officer's uniform was in dark green velvet, and it was soft and warm against her cheek. Though the velvet muffled the noise, she could hear his heart beating, a comforting, steady sound.

Then anger surged through her like wildfire. _'I will never forgive you, uncle. I am Atis' claws and you will know my pain. I swear it.'_


End file.
